Safe and Sound
by CheerfulSensibility
Summary: Katniss's original Hunger Games were actually the 73rd, and there was no uprising during her Victory Tour. She has returned home safe, but the 74th Games are here, and she and Peeta will have to be mentors rather than tributes this time around.
1. Chapter 1

{Katniss}

Once you win, you're out of the reaping for good. I should be relieved, able to live the rest of my life without fear of the reaping, comfortable in the gross amounts of riches they now shower me with.

But I can't. Not while Prim is still under the age of eighteen, when for the next six years I'll have to fear for her. Just because she was drawn last year does not mean she is safe this year.

I can't even be with her at the moment the name is drawn this year because I'll have to be up on the stage with Haymitch and Peeta, the mentors of the poor kids who will be sentenced to die.

The sun is beating down on the open square, and I can't help wondering how Effie's head must be broiling under that mass of fake hair. But when the people of District 12 come filing in, taking their places, I snap back to attention, searching the crowds desperately for that blond hair, the blue eyes. She looks up at me with wide eyes glittering with fear. She's tasted the terror that comes with having your name read out, and isn't eager to feel it again.

I give her a reassuring smile then sweep my eyes over the boy's section. Gale is easy to spot, tall even among the eighteen year olds. He catches my eye and his gaze is steady, as if he is the one reassuring me. This is his last year his name will be in the reaping balls. So far, the odds have been in his favor. I hope they will be for one last reaping.

Then Effie's calling us to attention in her high-pitched voice, bright smile flashing out to the crowds. Behind her, Peeta, Haymitch and I sit on folding chairs. We have no real part in the reaping, and I am grateful. It's enough that the Capitol is forcing me to help more children die. I don't want any part in the actual selection process.

The sun is bright as Effie digs her hand into the girl's ball, and I barely hear the name as she reads it out. But I do register one thing. It's not Primrose Everdeen, and I lean back in relief. There's the usual sympathetic murmur that means it must be someone young. Then Effie reads out the boy, and when it is not Gale Hawthorne who ascends the stage, I am almost ready to weep in relief that Prim has been spared, and that Gale is free now. Then I remember why I am up on the stage, and not in the crowd. Because I'm not a tribute this year, but a mentor, and I will be watching two kids from District 12 die from the control room.

Before we can get a good look at our new tributes, they are whisked away to the Justice Building for their good-byes, and Effie is hustling us towards the train. Haymitch stumbles off to the drink car, leaving me and Peeta alone.

It's silent for several minutes and I pretend to be very interested in the curtains, until Peeta's voice makes me jump. "I can't believe we're back here."

I know what he means. When we got off the train six months ago, after our Victory Tour, we'd thought that was the end. No more Capitol events, no more reporters swarming us, no more of the Capitol's games. Oh sure, we'd have to be careful to toe the line and stay in love whenever the cameras were near, but we were free. This train only brought us misery.

"We'll just have to do our best," I say, still not looking at him. "We'll be a good team, you and me and Haymitch. After all, Haymitch was able to get us both out of the arena."

"Yeah, but I don't think these two will be able to pull off the star-crossed lover act this year," says Peeta, his voice neutral.

Star-crossed lover act. Yes, it was an act, at least in the arena, but now, in District 12? I kept up the kisses while the reporters were here, but now that they're gone and there's no need, I'm still not sure what it is I feel for Peeta. But with a new Hunger Games just around the corner, I can't let him distract me.

"Peeta..." I force myself to turn, to face him. He deserves that at least. "I know that since we came back from the Games things haven't been...right...between us. But right now, there's a boy and a girl who are going to get slaughtered if we don't put 100% into helping them. So we can't let anything else distract us."

He nods slowly, and sadly. "I understand, Katniss. Just...don't take too long, ok?" His eyes show the pain he's hiding, and I have to look away again.

And with perfect timing, the door to the car slides open and Haymitch stumbles in , stinking of liquor. I wrinkle my nose at him in disgust, but Peeta helps him stagger over to a sofa. Peeta and I sit down next to him, awaiting the arrival of our tributes.

Effie sends them in and my heart sinks. Dark hair, gray eyes, they're Seam kids, both of them. Of course, I was from the Seam too, but I know these two are no hunters like I was, or Gale. The girl is too slender, she looks like she would keel over if I asked her to lift Buttercup. The boy is even more emaciated, and on top of that, he walks with a slight limp. That's nothing, I tell myself. The boy from 10 last year was crippled too, and he made it to the final eight. But it's still a liability we'll have to work around.

They sit on the plush chairs cautiously, on the edge of their seats, as if scared it will explode on impact. Their gray eyes take in the glitz of the train, the polished mahogany, the sparkling glass windows, the marble tabletop. Doubtless these are riches they have never even imagined exist.

We sit looking awkwardly at each other for a minute, their eyes flickering occasionally towards Haymitch, who is taking a swig from a bottle. I curse him in my mind and sigh. Then Peeta makes the first move. "What are your names?"

"I'm Violet," the girl says softly."

"Darren," says the boy, shifting his crippled leg.

"Let's get down to what we need to know," I say. "What can you do?"

They look at each other. "Nothing," says Violet. "Nothing that would be useful in the Games."

I sigh again. "How old are you?"

"We're both fourteen," says Darren.

Between my and Peeta's questioning, we get to know them a bit. Violet's parents are tailors. She's good with a needle and thread, but not much else. Darren's father is dead of sickness, and his mother hasn't been able to find work. She's been selling their possessions slowly for money, but soon there won't be much else to sell, he says, so he signed up for tesserae and has been stealing to live.

Haymitch has been eerily silent during the interview, but now he sits up and belches. He waves his bottle at the two. "Go to bed. We'll discuss more in the morning." When they've scurried off, Peeta and I look at each other.

I can't repel the dread that these two are doomed. They're nothing like the types that can survive the Games. Even little Rue was able to feed herself, the boy from District 3 able to get himself in with the Careers because of his knowledge. They can't hunt like me, they aren't strong like Cato or Thresh, or aggressive like Clove. I'm certain they'll be some of the first to go.

Peeta, on the other hand, does not look disheartened at all. As we make our way to our rooms, I ask him what he's thinking.

"It'll be tough."

I roll my eyes, not wanting to tell him my opinion of the two. He goes on. "But we can do it." He looks at me with fierce determination in his eyes. "I'm not letting kids we could have saved die." We've reached his door. "We'll talk training strategy tomorrow, when we're at the Capitol. Don't give up on them too quickly."

I get into bed, pulling the soft comforter up to my chin. Moonlight filters through the window across my bed in several white stripes. I close my eyes. Even if, by some miracle, we can keep Violet or Darren alive, the other will have to die. It's the rule of the Games. Only one victor allowed.


	2. Chapter 2

{Violet}

The prospect of being in the Games had frightened me enough, but now that I was at the Capitol and standing on the chariot that would take us out for the procession, my stomach was tying itself in knots and I was shaking so badly I had to grip the rail of the chariot for support.

As Darren stepped up next to me he took care not to step on the flowing cape that was part of our tribute costume this year. We wore black jumpsuits and knee-high boots, and capes of red and yellow, laced with gemstones that flashed when they caught the light. The skintight suit wasn't helping my breathing.

"On in two minutes!" yelled a man with a clipboard who was coming around to all the chariots. Katniss gave him the ok and he marked us off on his paper. She and Peeta came over for last minute adjustments and advice.

"Remember to smile," said Katniss. "They love that kind of stuff. Look happy and excited, like this is something you've been wanting your whole life. Even though it's a lie."

The doors opened and District One's chariot pulled out. "You'll do great," said Peeta as the horses started trotting and we lurched forward.

_Wave,_ I thought desperately. My arms felt leaden, but I managed to raise on and wave at the crowds as they sped by us. Their cheers and screams were nothing but dull noise to me. All I could hope to accomplish in my current state was to stay upright on the chariot and keep waving.

President Snow gave a speech which I supposed I listened to, although if you asked me later I couldn't have told you one word he said. Then we were being whisked back around the City Circle. It was a relief to hear the heavy doors shutting behind us, and to be able to step down from the chariot.

Darren seems unfazed by the whole thing, and says little as we are praised. I lower my eyes, not wanting praise, and only dreading what more will come.

When the mentors and prep teams watch the parade that night, I excuse myself and go to my room, saying that since training is tomorrow I want to sleep well. In reality, I just don't want to see the Capitol's reaction to me.

* * *

At breakfast our mentors look us over, talk to each other, come back and talk to us. "You'll be starting from scratch in the training room," says Haymitch flatly, "So make sure you pick up _something _useful while you're there. Learning to use a weapon would be nice, but remember, survival skills aren't to be sneezed at either."

Peeta nods as he pours himself a glass of hot chocolate. "Something seemingly useless such as camouflage could turn out to save your life. Can't it, Katniss?" She rolls her eyes and plows on.

"Make sure you hit the edible plant station. Without skills in weapons, hunting isn't an option for you two. Even with weapons, game can be scarce."

Darren and I nod, trying to take in their advice and eat at the same time. The food is so plentiful here, and so delicious, that I'm almost glad sometimes that I'm here. At least I can have a taste of upper class life before I die.

After the meal we are escorted to the bottom floor of the Training Center, where we see our competitors as they will be in the arena. Suddenly I am not sure what to think. Many of them are thin and underfed, like me. But others are tall, strong, even the wiry ones have some muscle on them. But before the thought can settle more firmly in my mind the instructors have come out and we are free to begin training.

Then I am lost, unsure of where to go. Darren has moved towards the weights. I take a step in that direction, then hesitate. Nobody is at the edible plant station, so I stop by until I've learned about several grasses and roots that are safe to eat. Then I learn how to build a fire, and how to set up a shelter.

After lunch I practice some knots. As I look up briefly I can see Darren is getting a lesson on spear throwing. His aim is actually quite good.

When my fingers are rubbed raw I leave and wander around the room for a while. It's almost the end of the day and I've learned several valuable survival skills, but none with a weapon. I glance around. The archery station is empty, the girl from District 9 having just left. Katniss used a bow in her Games. Maybe if I learn, she can help me.

When I pick it up the bow seems much larger than I expected, and much heavier. The instructor shows me how to notch the arrow and where to put my hands. It takes all my strength to hoist it up to my shoulder. I peer down the arrow, aiming for the bullseye.

But I can't pull the string far back enough. Try as I might, I don't have the strength. I let go of the string; the arrow flies four feet and clatters to the ground.

A few of the larger tributes at the knife station nearby snicker loudly. My face flushing, I pick up the arrow and put it back in the quiver, place the bow gently on the rack, and find the camouflage station in the corner of the room to learn how to use leaves to disguise a hiding place. If I could just camouflage myself for the duration of the Games, I would win hands down.

* * *

{Darren}

We go through a week of training, but none of it seems to have any impact, at least to me. My leg can't keep up with what the rest of my body wants to do, and it frustrates me.

Violet isn't doing to well either. Poor girl, even a week of the best food in the world isn't enough to magically transform a victim of life-long starvation into a fighting force. As I lay on my bed I can still feel my ribs.

Training scores come out, and we're both mediocre enough to be overlooked. Whether this is to our advantage or not the mentors can't seem to agree. We're just that - mediocre. Not somebody that the Careers will have to be on the lookout for, but not weaklings they'll be able to pick off too easily either. I don't know what Violet showed them, she didn't say when I was still in the room. I threw some thing around, spears, throwing knives, things like that. It was the best I could do, since I'm not strong enough to lop the head off a dummy or something.

Interviews don't make us stand out either. All the Capitol cares about when it comes to the tributes of District 12 are _last _year's tributes, the star-crossed lovers everybody knows. We two are just cannon fodder, distractions from the real lure of District 12. We have no love stories to tell, no tragic life stories...at least, none with the drama the Capitol wants to hear. Violet and I didn't even know each other before the reaping.

When Violet takes her seat next to Caesar Flickerman she looks like she's going to pass out. He asks her about her family. She has a sister who's seven, and thankfully, too young for the reaping. She talks quietly about her parents and their work, but very little about her. And that's where I'm afraid she's hurt herself. The audience still doesn't know anything about her. But judging from the stutter in her voice, asking much else would be too much.

I try to hide the limp when I take her spot but most people already know. In fact, it's Caesar's first question to me. "Do you think you're at a disadvantage, what with your leg and all?" I shrug and make a noncommittal answer. Despite my criticism of Violet, I don't do much better. These people can't wait to see me die, and I'm expected to pour out my soul to them?

Haymitch sighs when we watch the interviews later. "Well, this'll have to do, I guess." He's frustrated because our performance isn't rocketing us to the top of the "Must Sponsor" list. But Peeta gives us an encouraging smile.

"You did fine. It's our job to get sponsors, and that's what we'll do. Effie can help too." Violet asks to be excused and I follow, locking my bedroom door.

Even the windows in the Capitol are high-tech. They can show anything you want, any part of the city, or a preprogrammed image. I set the window to zoom up at the stars, a crescent moon dangling in the velvety black sky. Who knows if I'll ever see the real stars again?

I get into bed and close my eyes.

* * *

{Katniss}

Portia and Cinna arrive early the next morning. Violet and Darren have to be out of here soon, since it takes some time to get to the arena. Peeta, Haymitch and I also need to clear out, to start signing up sponsors. Nobody really touches their breakfast although Peeta gently makes the two get something of substance in them.

At the moment of farewell we stand, mentors facing the tributes. Violet's eyes are wide but her mouth is set, and Darren's fists are clenched in his pockets. We say our good byes and final advice.

"Fighting isn't everything. Make sure you have what you need to survive first, worry about the others later," says Peeta. "After all, they'll be preoccupied with the same thing."

"At the Cornucopia, grab what you can and get out. Don't even think of going in, you'll just get slaughtered. Even the packs on the outside have things to help you survive. And find water first," I say, thinking of how I almost died of dehydration.

"Stay alive," says Haymitch gruffly. Peeta and I glance at each other, but then the stylists are here and Violet and Darren are gone. I am left with Peeta and Haymitch, who drains his bottle and wipes his mouth. He starts tramping towards the door the tributes just left through. "Come on, you two. We've got to get to the Control Room."

* * *

Author's note: Hi everybody! This is my first fan fiction and I'm really surprised how well it was received, so thank you all so much! I kind of rushed this chapter, squeezing all the pre-Games stuff in because I really want to get to the actual Games. So if this chapter feels a little messy I apologize. Thank you for your support!


	3. Chapter 3

{Violet}

Portia comes with me to the Launch Room and helps me dress. The uniform is similar to last year's, a waterproof black jacket, leather boots, a red shirt this year, and brown pants. Everything is snug and secure but I can't sit still, knowing what awaits me above ground.

Finally it's time to go and I step onto the platform. My mouth is dry, my stomach churning as the glass cylinder lowers around me. As I rise upwards into the darkness I close my eyes and tell myself to breathe.

The air is crisp, not exactly cold, but not warm either. I open my eyes and look around. Forty yards away is the Cornucopia, sitting on a grassy meadow. Trees ring the area and I can hear wildlife squawking.

Katniss's advice echoes in my head. _Grab what you can, clear out, find water_. The sixty seconds are ticking away and I have to have a plan of action. But my head is blank when the gong goes off.

It's chaos. Tributes are everywhere, fleeing into the trees immediately, or sprinting to the Cornucopia in the hope of getting something good.

I see a small backpack nearby and grab it even though my first impulse is to run as far away as I can. As I'm pulling it over my shoulder another tribute comes barreling towards me, knife raised. A burst of terror shoots through my veins and I'm stumbling over myself to get away. When I reach the treeline he turns back, clearly more interested in getting more supplies. After all, he can always hunt me down later if he wants.

Most of the tributes who initially fled are gone and I'm tramping through the woods alone. The ground is dirt so my tread is quiet. I walk for at least an hour before coming across a large fallen tree I can sit against and rest. Suddenly I wonder how Darren is doing. To be sure, we never really bonded in the Capitol, but…I don't want him to die.

With no weapons, no food, and no water I can't rest. At least until I find a good hiding spot. I grab my stuff and strike out into the woods again.

* * *

{Katniss}

Haymitch leads us into the Control Room. It is spacious, a large circular room with a holographic map of the arena in the center. Gamemakers sit in concentric circles around it, keeping track of meters, pushing buttons, and typing. They are dressed all in white, making the room seem blindingly sterile.

I think back to my time in the arena: pawing through the mud for dirt, Peeta's wound festering, Cato's mutilated body.

Nobody would ever see the Control Room. Not anyone from the Districs, not anyone in the Capitol except maybe President Snow. Nobody but the Gamemakers and mentors will ever see this room. And yet the white is so perverse, the faces of the Gamemakers so placid as they watch children slaughter each other, the power to kill at their fingertips. And that's when it hits me. It's for the mentors to see, not anybody else. _Look at us_, the Capitol says when we see the purity of the room. _We kill off twenty-three of you every year, and look at how cleanly we do it while you starve slowly in the arena. _Must everything the Capitol do be a slap in the face to the districts? Seventy-four years is a long time to hold a grudge.

We aren't meant to stay in the main room. There are individual rooms on the side for each district's mentors, where we will be able to call sponsors, see the arena map, and discuss in private. There's a table with another holographic map and Haymitch, Peeta and I arrange ourselves around it. There's also a television that is airing the Games live, 24/7.

Haymitch lays out our provisions. We've got a decent amount of money, not as much as he got last year, he says, but enough to last. If push comes to shove we should be able to wheedle some more out of our sponsors, but that's unlikely, he says, unless Violet or Darren does something really spectacular.

Peeta is scrutinizing the screen as Haymitch talks. The camera's following a tribute from District 5 who's being hounded by the Career pack. He's got a knife but seems unwilling to risk losing it. Instead he chucks rocks behind him as he runs, scooping them up as he goes. One of them hits its mark and the Career falls, broken skin on his forehead turning red. But the others are relentless and when the tribute from 5 reaches a smooth expanse of water, they are upon him. At least here I can turn away, and the cannon goes off.

Pushing the tribute from my mind I look over the map. The two 12's are far apart, and moving further away. Violet seems to be moving towards the water, but thankfully the Career pack, satisified with their kill, is moving deeper into the woods. Darren is close to the Cornucopia. I remember he ran at the gong, disappeared into the trees, but apparently he didn't go far.

"It doesn't look like either of them got off well in supplies," says Haymitch, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"I didn't either," I say. "Water is the most important thing for them right now. I'm worried about Darren. He's still at the Cornucopia, and that's nowhere near the water sources."

"Most likely he's planning to take things slow," says Haymitch. "His leg is going to slow him up, so most people are going to be ahead of him to water sources anyways. If he shows up later he won't run into anyone that could give him trouble."

"But he doesn't have all the time he wants," I snap. "In three days he'll be finished."

"Well, we're not spending money on water. They'll find it, Katniss. They're smart," says Peeta. "I'm more worried about how they're going to defend themselves. If they get jumped, they're dead."

"Unfortunately, we can't do anything about that. If they're not vigilant, what can we do?" says Haymitch. "We can't give them whatever they need at the moment. If I had given you bread everytime you were hungry you can bet I wouldn't have been able to send you that burn medicine. It's a trade off. You let them take care of themselves, but when what you can give makes a difference, then you swoop in. And if they don't know how survive on their own, what's a bottle of water or medicine or even a bow and arrow going to do?

Peeta and I are silent. It's true. In the Games the weakest, the least equipped to survive are weeded out first. If they could only survive for a few days, until most of the competition is gone…then our gifts really could tip the balance in District 12's favor. But until then, Violet and Darren will just need to have the wits to survive.


	4. Chapter 4

{Darren}

I'm sprawled on my stomach under a bush, my head propped on my fist as I peer through the thicket of leaves at the Career's base camp. As usual, they've got all the supplies hoarded away, well stocked while the rest of us scrounge and try to stay alive. But there's one tribute who's going to be getting some of that bounty, and that's me.

The Careers finish eating and get up, arming themselves well before they stride into the forest. I freeze momentarily, even holding my breath as their boots pass my bush. But when the sound of their clumsy crashing through the undergrowth fades, I wriggle out of my hiding place.

No mines guard the food this year, instead it is in some sort of rig high above the ground built with ropes. The ground under it is no doubt booby trapped in some other way, but I checked the metal plates on my way over, and the dirt was undisturbed.

I'm no stranger to theft. Back in District 12, it was only my mother and me. My mother was unemployed, at least officially. She used to work in the mines, but got sick. She had always been frail, and the mine work was too hard on her, not to mention the terrible air. And so like many others who couldn't handle it, she was kicked out to make room for tougher workers. It would have been bad enough, but she had me to worry about too. I was ten and she tried to keep our lives running smoothly with money from odd jobs, but I knew that everything was only going to get worse. Two years too young to sign up for tesserae, I was still determined to do something. That was when I began to steal.

It was only a little at first. An apple or two from the produce stall, a coin from the table when a shopkeeper's back was turned. My hands used to shake horribly before I swiped something. But I got better. Soon I had learned how to sidle up to someone and filch their wallet right out of their pocket before making my escape. When the bakery's back door was open I dashed in, grabbed a fresh loaf, and scurried out unseen. Once, when I was desperate because my mother was seriously ill, I stole a bottle of medicine off the apothecary shelf.

My mother was horrified of course, but the way I saw it, I didn't have a choice. I couldn't hunt or go to the woods to get food. I didnt have anythin to trade. It was steal or starve. And so soon enough she turned a blind eye to my misdeeds.

I turn my attention to the bounty, twenty feet in the air above me. There must be a way the Careers get to it easily, but I don't have the time to figure it out. So I start for the nearest tree and begin climbing.

The bark scratches my hands as I pull myself onto a branch level with the food. Ropes are tied to it, holding the food aloft in a giant contraption I don't care to decipher. There's only one way in. And so holding my breath I clutch the ropes and began my way over.

It's slow work. But the rig holding the food is so intricate, there are plenty of ropes stretching from tree to tree that I pull myself across like a giant spider. Every movement I make causes the ropes to lurch unpredictably, so I have to stop often as I wait for it to subside. Finally, I've reached the food. I fill my pack, stuffing everything I can in. Crackers, dried meat, some water...but I stop before I reveal myself. I close my pack and wriggle back towards the tree and climb down, dropping to the ground with a thud and a wince as my bad leg buckles. As I set off to find a camp of my own, I allow myself a slight moment of triumph. I'm not to be counted out that easily.

* * *

{Katniss}

So he did find a way to get some food. Good. I had been worried when he left the Cornucopia immediately, not even stopping for the smallest backpack. But it looks like he's going to go the Foxface route instead.

Officially, each tribute is supposed to have their own mentor, but since Haymitch had been going it solo for so long, we kind of forgot. So the day before the Games started Peeta took Violet and I took Darren. I'd wanted it the other way at first, arguing that Peeta, with his prosthetic leg, would understand Darren more, but he refused.

"I know why you want Violet, Katniss, but I'm going to have to say no. You're tough and hardcore, and Violet is going to have a hard time opening up to you. You take Darren."

Haymitch decided to hang around just to see how we'd do, and to give us tips if we needed them. Mentoring the mentors, as it were.

So while I focused my screens on Darren, Peeta was watching Violet. Haymitch pulled up an extra chair behind us and watched, a bottle of something held loosely in his grasp.

This year's arena was another forest, this time a large wetland being the main source of water. Tall grass and cattails waved lazily around a shallow lake, with forest on all sides. Good source of water and game, with birds, rabbits, and even deer attracted by the lake.

A glance at Peeta's screen tells me Violet is going through her pack. There isn't much. Only an empty water bottle, one knife, and two packs of dried meat. She puts everything back and begins to shimmy up a tree, finding a sturdy crook to nestle in. Luckily she's small, so she's well hidden. Satisfied, I turn back to my own screen.

Darren is moving away from the Cornucopia but making slow progress through the woods with his bad leg. I wince at every snap of a branch, sure a Career is going to drop out of a tree and knife him. I shake myself. This kid is going to be dead in two weeks, I remind myself. Unfortunate, but true. I can't get attached. It'll only hurt me.

And yet...as I watch Darren find a small cave to make camp in, I can't help but feel an attachment. Because I know what he's going through, and because I am his mentor. I am supposed to help him. I'm supposed to get him out alive.

Suddenly I realize this must be how Haymitch feels every year. And as I think a little more, horror dawns on me. Haymitch is, or was, the only victor in District 12 until Peeta and I came along. He mentored every year from his Games until now. Everybody knows that. But I wonder if anybody has actually thought about what that means. Twenty-three years of mentoring. No District 12 victors. That's 46 kids Haymitch has watched die. And each year it just gets worse. No wonder he drowns himself in drink. Not only to escape the memories of the Games, but to escape the guilt of all those children's death.

Dread washes over me as I look at the map and find the little 12 that marks Darren's location, sure that he is only going to be the first of many.


End file.
